


Comrades in Arms: Re-worked

by Ameliorably



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Comrades in Arms, Episode: s06e12-13 Comrades in Arms Parts 1-2, F/M, Re-write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-02-15 01:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameliorably/pseuds/Ameliorably
Summary: Comrades in Arms re-written from the ground up. It follows more or less the same premise, but things happen a little differently.Now with added depth, better dialogue, and less "ting ting". Batteries not included.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s chapter 1 of my new fic. I decided to do something a little different. I’m an oddity among Hawkeye/Margaret shippers in that really, very much do not like Comrades in Arms. 
> 
> To me it’s clumsy, largely out of character (even if you squint), lacks any sort of tension and is, overall, an awkward trope fest. So I decided to re-write the entire thing through a lens that I feel is a a little more true to character and situation.
> 
> Don’t worry, though, if you like CiA, you’ll probably like this.  
> The plot shares a lot of the same basic framework as the episode, and there are little call-backs here and there.  
> Don't panic if something doesn't happen *exactly* as in canon, because that's kind of the whole point ;)
> 
> They do end up getting together in my version, but there’ll be an author’s note at the end explaining how I would’ve handled a more true to canon version where they decided not to.
> 
> I’m hoping to update once a month until it’s done. Hope you enjoy!

 

 

This morning’s breakfast was grey, or was it brown, or was it grey-brown? Hawkeye skewered a lump with his fork and gave it a tentative sniff, wrinkling his nose at the smell, all the while studiously ignoring the look of disgust BJ was shooting him from across the table. His fork was still hovering in front of his face when he noticed Colonel Potter walking purposefully towards them. The war never stopped. Not even for a substandard meal.

The Colonel eyed the pair shrewdly before his eyes settled on Hawkeye. “I need a volunteer, and by volunteer I mean you, Pierce.”

Hawkeye put down his still-laden fork with a grimace. “How lucky for me. What am I volunteering for?”

“The 8063rd have heard about our arterial transplant method, and they wanna know how to do it. Seeing as you were the surgeon taught to do it by Dr Borelli, I thought I’d send you.”

Hawkeye sighed, not at all enthused. “Great. I get to have all the fun.”

“Pick a nurse to go with you.”

At this he he sat up a little straighter. “I really do get to have all the fun,” he said,  standing up to get a better view of the nurses eating their breakfast.

“Now Pierce…” Potter cautioned, aware of his angle.

Margaret, who was having her tray loaded with food, narrowed her eyes the still-standing Hawkeye as she tried to figure out what he was doing. When she noticed the direction of his gaze she rolled her eyes, striding over to him. “Pierce, what are you doing?”

“Choosing a lovely assistant to take with me on a lovely holiday. The Colonel here is sending myself and a lovely lady on an all expenses trip to the 8063rd to teach them about legs and arteries.”

“I’ll be going with you.”

“Now Margaret, I knew you were a fan, but I didn’t know you--”

Her face clearly showed her disapproval. “ _ I  _ was the one who assisted so  _ I  _ will be the one to go with you.”

“She does have a point, Pierce.”

“But nurse Bell and I were going to have so much fun together.”

Margaret shot him a filthy look while the Colonel ignored him. “You and Major Houlihan will leave at 0800 tomorrow morning.”

As Margaret uttered her assent and moved to another table, the Colonel left the tent.

Hawkeye sat back down and picked up his fork again. “Now, where was I?”

BJ, meanwhile, was grinning smugly at Hawkeye from across the table. “Well that'll be fun for you.”

“How about you go with her and I stay here?”

“Not a chance.”

 

* * *

  
  


The next morning Hawkeye exited The Swamp approximately two minutes before they were meant to leave. He’d put no effort into his appearance, and was wearing his dirty fatigues from the day before. It wasn’t as though he’d be getting lucky on this trip, and the army wasn’t going to be getting any extra effort from him this morning. 

Colonel Potter was overseeing some men packing supplies into the jeep. “Load those peaches in! Ah, Pierce. I want you to see if you can trade some of these tins for some of the supplies we need. Make sure you get the goods. These aren't the usual fare, they're big halved peaches. Got some sulfa tablets in there, too - we have far too many of those.”

“Fine, Colonel.”

The men turned as Margaret came marching towards them, her demeanour cool and businesslike as always.

“Ah, morning, Major.”

“Colonel,” she acknowledged, before turning to Hawkeye, eying him with suspicion. “Ready to go, Captain?”

He met her gaze with mock affront. “What are you talking about? Of course I am.”

There was no of course about it and he knew it. Margaret narrowed her eyes at him in a way that told him that this was a fact of which she was also well aware. 

She didn't relish the fact that she was going on this trip, but she wasn't about to subject any of her nurses to either the danger of travel in these parts or Hawkeye Pierce, voluntarily or otherwise. 

She cast a look of disdain at a stain on his uniform but said nothing. She knew well enough by now that there was no point. He was a skilled surgeon, and a decent human being when all said and done, but he was never going to show any care for the army. 

Klinger approached them with a flourish. “Mail for you, sirs. Well, for Major Houlihan.”

Hawkeye smirked. “Ahh, Klinger. Where’s Radar this morning?”

Klinger put his hand up to shield his mouth and stage whispered. “He, uh, didn’t want to give this letter to Major Houlihan.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Her Colonel Penobscot.”

Margaret leapt forward. “Give me that!”

“Yes, Major Houlihan, sir!” Klinger said as he handed it to her theatrically.

Margaret tore the letter open before noticing that Klinger was still standing near her. “Do you mind!” 

“Sorry, Major,” Klinger then turned to Hawkeye, “Apparently it’s a doozy,” he said before wandering back off to wherever Radar was hiding.

“Really!” Margaret huffed before turning her attention back to her letter.

Hawkeye watched carefully as she read, waiting for any sort of reaction. It wasn’t long before her face blanched to white. “Everything alright at home?”

Her head snapped up, eyes flashing. “Oh go soak your head!” she snapped before climbing into the jeep with a whump.

“Just as I thought,” Hawkeye mocked before doing the same. “Shall we?” He said, turning to Margaret in mock askance.

“Just drive, will you!”  
  


 

* * *

 

 

For the first mile they drove, Margaret was completely silent. Hawkeye had tried singing obnoxiously loud opera, and telling the worst jokes he could think of, but 

Margaret remained stony. There’d been no snapping, no rebukes, no scathing remarks about how un-military he was, nothing. That letter really had been a doozy if it had gotten to her this badly. He figured he may as well attempt a more conventional way of breaking the silence. 

“That must have been some letter.”

Margaret whipped around to face him, incensed. “Excuse me? What Donald and I write to each other is none of your business! It was a perfectly normal letter.”

“He’s not dying, is he?.”

“Drop it, and that’s an order!”

“Ahh, so there is something.”

It was hard to miss the flash of pain in her eyes or the chink in her armour before she whipped her head in the other direction.

Margaret held her breath in a bid to regain control as their jeep bounced around the potholes in the road. She wouldn’t allow him to get to her, and Donald could wait until she got back to camp. Her heart could wait until after the war. There was no time for weakness.

Without warning, the road in front of them exploded. Dust and dirt went everywhere as the noise reverberated in the hills around them.

Hawkeye started to panic. As much as he hated the war, he hated this part more than the others. He’d been kind of hoping to make it home alive. “What should I do, should I turn around?”

“No, keep driving! What sort of moron tries to turn around when they’re being shelled!”

“How about a scared moron?”

“You’ll make yourself a target for longer, now go!”

“I am going!”

“Faster!”

“I’m trying! I’m also trying not to drive us off that cliff over there!”

Another shell went off, this time behind them. Margaret screamed as it rocked their jeep, showering them with dust. She’d always hated loud noises,  _ hated  _ them, and this was the worst kind of loud noise: the kind that could actually kill them. Hawkeye put his foot down even harder, silently praying that they’d be out of range soon. A third shell exploded, behind them. Hawkeye gritted his teeth, and Margaret’s face was as white as her knuckles as she held on for dear life.

“I think we're losing them!” Hawkeye yelled without taking his eyes off the road.”

“Thank god!” she yelled back, her voice tight, and her attention focused determinedly ahead.

 

* * *

 

When they eventually arrived at the 8063rd they were greeted by naked tent frames and an eerie silence.

Hawkeye slowed the jeep to a stop so that he could process the scene before them. He sat for a moment, squinting at what was left of the latrines. “They bugged out. They bugged and didn’t tell us!”

Margaret’s lips pressed together in a thin line, her unease growing as the reality of their situation dawned on her. “We’re in enemy territory. We’ve got to get out of here! Now!”

Hawkeye didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped on the gas pedal and quickly turned them around, before hurtling out of the skeletal remains of the 8063rd.

Neither of them looked at each other or said anything, but a sense of foreboding trickled over them. There would be no relief until they were safely back at camp.

Nausea welled up inside Margaret as she thought about all the ways their day could get horribly worse. She almost hoped that if they were at any point cornered by the enemy, they killed her instead of taking her prisoner. 

She’d heard stories. Unspeakably terrible stories from this war and the last, and she didn’t want to have to live with what the enemy would likely do to her - if they let her live once they were done.

Hawkeye broke the silence, as if sensing the mood. “It’s okay, Margaret, we’ll make it.”

“Of course we will!” Margaret exclaimed, voice shrill and indignant before falling into a tense silence, but neither of them were convinced.

It was too hard to see past all the horrible possibilities that lay before them.

 

They drove on in silence as the scenery flew past, hoping desperately hoping for some sign that they were entering friendly territory but none came. They’d only gone about a mile when the jeep’s engine started to cut out.

“Ohhhh no. No no nonono.” Hawkeye yelled as it juddered to a halt. “Don't they ever service these things?”

Margaret ignored him, they didn't have time for yelling, the enemy could find them at any moment. Instead she leapt from the vehicle and started wrestling with the hood of the jeep. “Don't suppose you know anything about engines?” she called up at Hawkeye, still sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Uh, I think I saw one once.” he replied as he got out of the jeep to join her. He helped her lift the heavy, metal hood, holding it as she peered into the engine bay. “You?”

Margaret shook her head in response. “Not a thing.”

“Oh well, it’s kind of like a big, metal human body, how hard can it be?”

They both stared at the mess of wires, tubes and metal before them, unable to decide where to begin.

Hawkeye rolled up his sleeves and began to rummage around, but Margaret froze.She could hear voices. 

She put her hand on Hawkeye’s arm, stilling his motion so that he could hear them too. He swore. “Let’s get out of here!”

The voices were fast approaching, and they weren't speaking English. 

“Quick, hide!” Margaret hissed. 

Hawkeye grabbed his medical bag from the jeep before running to the long grass at the side of the road. Margaret was about to throw herself into it when Hawkeye stopped her. “No, wait, up here further. Away from the jeep.” Before she’d had a chance to respond he grabbed her by the hand, pulling her along with him to further up the road. She gave him a small nod before they both lunged into the tangled scrub in front of them, crawling in deeper, and flattening themselves into the ground. 

Hawkeye winced as a thorn punctured his leg. He didn’t dare move. Hell, he didn’t dare breathe. The slightest movement would risk rustling, and rustling would surely mean discovery. 

The voices grew louder still, and soon was accompanied by what sounded like the footfalls of a small group of men. 

Sure enough, they were North Korean soldiers. Four yelled with excitement when they saw the jeep, pointing excitedly at the supplies, while the fifth one, obviously their leader looked on, a little more wary. He checked to see whether the engine was still warm. Finding that it was, he gestured sharply for the others to be quiet. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the scenery, but he saw nothing. Not satisfied that the coast was clear, he barked an order at his men, who then began to search the area immediately surrounding the jeep.

 

He watched his men spread out before choosing his own patch to search.

He started walking towards where they were hiding, thrusting his gun into the long grass as he went, parting it to check for rogue Americans.

 

Margaret closed her eyes and willed her heart to stop thumping so loudly. He was getting closer and closer, and she was so sure that second now there would be a yell and strong sets of hands hauling them out of the bushes. This whole situation had elements of the surreal, and yet was totally serious. 

Hawkeye was trembling, and he didn’t seem to be able to stop. The thorn was still stuck in his leg, and he was worried his bladder might let go, or his bowels, or both. All this was aside from the fact that there was an enemy soldier rapidly closing the distance between himself and their hiding place. 

He was beginning to regret letting go of Margaret’s hand when they dove for cover, because it would have felt like reassurance, and he’d take all the reassurance he could get right now.

 

The soldier was mere yards away when he stopped again, the grass nearby was parted with his gun. Another few steps and they’d be discovered. 

He stepped closer again before he paused, looking around from where he was standing. He then gave a loud sniff, his heel grinding the dirt as he turned and walked back to his comrades.

 

Margaret let out a shaky, carefully controlled breath before turning her head to look at Hawkeye, who met her eyes with his own wide and fearful ones. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him simply afraid before, without his protective coating of humour. 

Things had gotten a little too real, and it was hard to joke when you couldn’t move or open your mouth. 

She blinked once, straining her ears as she tried to figure out what the men might do next. They were talking and laughing and chattering away about something. 

The jeep hiccoughed as they obviously tried to start it, followed by some clunking and four distinct thuds. They were stripping the jeep.

 

Hawkeye turned his head and met her eyes once more, clearly thinking the same thing she was: They weren’t getting out of here any time soon.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

 

It felt like days had passed by the time things finally went quiet. Margaret shifted slightly, moving to get up, but Hawkeye shook his head. He’d go.

The consequences of being caught would be dire for either of them, but he figured they’d more likely be worse for her.

Slowly and carefully he slid out from under the bushes before raising himself out of the grass, his muscles complaining after having been still for so long.

He stopped when he was at eye height with the top of the grass, but saw nothing.

Then, cautiously, he stood. He shivered as a cool breeze blew past.

They were lucky it wasn’t winter, but even so, the sun was going down and there was a chill in the air. They were going to have to find shelter soon.

The jeep was a write off. Even if it wasn’t starting before, it was now short of four wheels, its hood, some of what used to be under it. They’d also been relieved of their supplies.

 

Margaret joined him in standing, groaning when she saw the jeep.

 

“Well that was kind of them,” Hawkeye quipped, his sarcastic tone belying his frustration.

 

Margaret gave a minute shake of her head, but didn’t respond. She could never understand how he could make jokes in a crisis. All of her mental energy was too tied up in trying to figure out how to manage the situation at hand, and she found being jolted out of that headspace by his attempts at wit irritating. She was just trying to concentrate on what needed to be done. “We should try to find shelter.”

 

Hawkeye turned to her, eyes stormy. Despite having had that same thought moments before, hearing her say something he already knew out loud turned her into a lightning rod for his own frustrations. “Okay, great, where are we going to find that?”

 

Margaret shot him a dark look. A bitter, angry Hawkeye raised her ire at the best of times, but if he went too far down this path now he could forget about the North Koreans, she might just kill him herself. He was acting as though he was the only one scared for his life. Her tone when she responded was icy. “Can we just get on with it, please?”

 

They eyed each other. Arguing would get them nowhere, and they both knew it.

 

“Okay, fine,” Hawkeye conceded, “Which way should we go, that way?”

 

She nodded.His suggestion was as good as any. It didn’t really matter. They knew roughly where they were and which road they were on, but it was no longer friendly territory, and they had no idea where enemy territory ended and friendly began. For now they’d be better off finding shelter nearby and sitting tight and waiting until someone friendly found what was left of their jeep.

 

Silently they set out, pushing cautiously through the scrub, with Hawkeye taking the lead.

 

He didn’t know about Margaret, but if he never had to walk through scratchy scenery again it would be too soon.

 

As they walked, Margaret kept an eye out for any sort of sturdy but swingable stick,

eventually finding one that was about as long as her arm, and half as thick. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

 

They were about ten minutes deep into the thicket when they came across a clearing. In the rapidly fading light, they could just make out a small hut.

 

Margaret shivered. Partly from the cold, partly with dread. The hut was exactly what they needed, but god only knew who or what was awaiting them inside. She looked to Hawkeye for reassurance. “What do you think, should we take a look?”

“What choice have we got?”

None, they had none. She was already loathe to think of the snipers or ambush that could be awaiting them any moment now.

Now they had to figure out the best way to cross the clearing and stay alive. “Have you got anything in that bag of yours we could use as a weapon?”

She could see the outrage in his eyes even in the half light. “Hey, I’m about saving lives, not ending them!”

“Shhh, keep it down!” she hissed, “So am I, or I wouldn’t be here! But if it’s them vs us, then what? Are you going to just stand there and let them take us without putting up any kind of fight?”

 

He had to admit, she had a point. “Okay, fine, I have a scalpel. What are you going to use?”

Margaret held up her stick. “I’ll hit to disable, you go in close to take the enemy down.”

“Right.”

If it had just been him, he would probably just have avoided the moral dilemma altogether, taking the coward’s way out and not confronting it unless he was faced with the enemy, and by then it would likely be too late. Having someone else with him complicated matters. Suddenly he was responsible for her life as well.

He blinked, returning to the moment at hand. “Okay, so, how do we want to do this?”

“There’ll probably only be one doorway, we should both go in, me first with the stick, then you with the scalpel just in case it’s occupied.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

They had to move fast, or soon there wouldn’t be enough light to even see if there _was_ anyone inside.

 

They hunched down, making their way quickly across the clearing, slowing as they reached the hut. There was a thud behind her as Hawkeye tripped over. Margaret whirled around, eyes wide, feeling more exposed than ever. “What happened, are you okay?”

“Margaret, there’s a man down here. Help me move him inside.”

“We don’t even know if there’s anyone _in_ side _,_ and he could wake up and kill us both!”

Hawkeye felt around for bare skin, trying to find a pulse, but recoiled when he found the man’s skin cold. He stood up, wiping his hands on his fatigues.

“Well?”

“He’s dead.”

“We need to get inside!”

Hawkeye didn’t need to be told twice, and they ran the short distance to the hut.

 

The doorway was eerily dark against the twilight; whatever had been hanging across it to shield its former occupants from the elements was long gone.

 

Margaret held her stick diagonally across her body, ready to swing at any potential dangers, and took a tentative step inside. She couldn't see a thing. She paused to listen while she waited for her eyes to adjust but heard nothing. She took another step, this time with her stick stretched out in front of her but still detected nothing. She felt rather than heard Hawkeye move in behind her as he stepped into the hut. Her senses were humming with anticipation. She took her outstretched stick and moved over to one of the murky, dark walls, gently tapping it from top to bottom to make sure there was no one there. She then proceeded to do the same to the second wall, and then the third. About halfway around the third wall her stick hit solid metal with a clunk. Her heart stopped as she frantically tapped around the object to make sure that it didn’t have an owner nearby.

She only hoped it wasn’t a grenade

 

Hawkeye stood behind her, frowning into the darkness. “What is it?

“Something metal. It sounded heavy.”

Hawkeye moved carefully past her and crouched down.

“Careful,” Margaret said, her voice taught, “it could be an explosive of some sort.”

The thought had occurred to him. Tentatively he reached out his hand and patted for the object, his hand coming into contact with a cool, rough textured metal cylinder. He moved his hand along it, finding it to be flared at that end. “Hey Margaret, I think it’s a flashlight!”

He felt along it for the switch before sliding it up towards the end.

A dim light filled the room, and Margaret winced at the sudden increase in illumination. “Shine it at the ground, we don’t want anyone to see us.”

Hawkeye did as she said, and their surroundings became visible.

There was a table, some broken chairs, a tattered grass mat and, most importantly, no enemies.

“I’ll turn it off, I don’t know how much battery it has left, and I'd rather no one came looking to see what the light was.”

Margaret nodded in agreement but it was lost as the light disappeared.

Hawkeye dragged the mat over to one of the back corners. That way they’d still have a good view of anyone looking to enter the hut, but would be hidden from immediate view.

“How about this corner for sitting and this corner for any ‘business’ we might need to attend to?”

 

Margaret grimaced at the mention of needing to attend to basic bodily functions in the same space as one another, but it was a valid plan. The corner furthest from the one they’d be occupying was also a logical choice.

 

“Well, I guess we should get ourselves settled in, though you really should complain to reception about cleanliness levels around here.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

One after the other, they sat down awkwardly on the rudimentary mat, the chill of the ground seeming to seeping through it and into their bodies.

 

“While we’re at it, someone should tell them their heating is broken.”

 

Margaret ignored him. “Do you think anyone will have noticed we’re missing?”

 

“I hope so, I had plans. Oh, speaking of plans, I brought dinner. I borrowed some of Charles’s caviar and wheedled a box of saltines out of Radar.” Hawkeye was determined to keep things light. He could only hope the 8063rd had let the 4077th know that they were minus them, but in this war nothing was a given.

 

He scooted closer to Margaret so that their shoulders were touching before rummaging in his bag for the food. Partly for warmth, and partly because he needed it, but she didn't pull away. He stopped when his fingers found the cool metal of the tin and now less than squared cardboard of the box.

“Hungry, madame?”

 

Margaret had barely stopped to think about food, but her stomach was indeed gnawing at itself. “Yes, thank you.”

Of course he’d manage to bring caviar and crackers on a trip like this. No doubt he’d been planning to try his luck wooing the nurses of the 8063rd.

They smeared the caviar on the crackers with their fingers, spilling a fair share on the ground as they went. Neither were particularly eager to talk, so silently they nibbled at  They were trying to prolong the food as long as possible, that way they wouldn't have to think about their current predicament.

 

“So,” Hawkeye said between mouthfuls, “you going to tell me what was in that letter of yours?”

 

Margaret tensed beside him. The letter paled in comparison to what they’d just been through, but that didn’t mean she trusted Hawkeye with its contents. In fact she thought he might enjoy her misfortune, maybe even laugh and tell her he knew that Donald was going to be a waste of time and that she was an idiot for going near him.“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Hawkeye’s tone was teasing. “Come on, Margaret. If you can't tell the guy you just spent an hour with in the bushes, who can you tell?”

 

Margaret huffed loudly. For all she knew they’d be dead by morning, and telling him would at least be another way to pass the time. “It was the wrong letter.”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t written the way you like it?”

“No, I mean it was the wrong letter! It wasn’t addressed to me, it was addressed to someone who is apparently his mistress. And you wanna know what the worst part is? It’s more romantic than anything he’s ever written to me! Letters he writes to me are all about army business, machine guns, which rations they served at breakfast! This...woman’s on the other hand. Hers talks about walking on the beach in Hawaii and how the moonlight looked as it fell upon her shoulders!”

 

Hawkeye was silent as his mind played catch-up. He’d been expecting some stupidity from Donald, but this went above and beyond. He felt genuinely sorry for her. “I’m sorry, Margaret.”

 

She waved him off, “Oh I’m fine. I’ve survived a few knocks in my time, and this is no worse than any of the others. I just have to keep going, same as always.”

 

Hawkeye frowned at her apparent nonchalance, not even remotely fooled. “But how many of those involved finding out your husband was unfaithful?”

 

“I already suspected. I mean, there’d been nurses come to camp that had slept with a dumb Lieutenant Colonel named Donald on their last trip to Tokyo, I can put two and two together.” She was silent for a moment before exploding. “I just wanted it to work! Would that have been so much to ask? All I wanted was someone nice to come home to, someone who’d be there for me, someone to start a family with. Someone different who loved me enough not to go snivelling back to their wife and her family fortune.”

Margaret gave an irritated sniff but didn’t cry. After the day’s events her emotional responses were flat.

 

“If it’s any consolation, I’d wring his neck if he had one--”

 

The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a thunderous explosion. The ground shook, and dust rained down upon their heads.

Margaret screamed, gripping Hawkeye’s arm like a vice.

 

As if their day hadn’t been rich and full enough already, now their clearing was being shelled.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

 

Another shell hit the ground, lighting up the hut as it exploded. Margaret screamed again and silently berated herself. Silence would be a far better tactic, but couldn’t she couldn’t hold it in. 

Her heart was thumping like it was trying to burst out of her chest, and her pulse was racing. Loud noises terrified her no matter how hard she tried to convince herself they shouldn’t, and never had one been so poised to actually kill her. In the past she might have felt ashamed for reacting this way, in front of Hawkeye Pierce no less, but now was neither the time nor the place.

 

Hawkeye, in turn, focused his attention on their immediate, rather lacklustre surroundings in an attempt to stop his mind from speculating about what might be going on in the surrounding bushes.

He could hear Margaret beside him, her breath was coming in short, sharp, jagged little puffs, causing her shoulder to butt up against his. 

If he didn’t at least try to do something he was worried that she might spin into a full blown panic attack or worse: faint.

He grasped her shoulders firmly, shushing her. “It's okay, Margaret,” he said in a vain attempt to seize control of the situation. “We’re fine, it's going to be fine.”

 

“How can you say that? They're bombing us, the next shell and they'll kill us!”

 

“I doubt they're going to kill us, they're probably using this hut as a registration point.” He was trying to convince himself as much as her, but even if it were true, there was no guarantee they wouldn't obliterate it once they were done with it.

 

Margaret stilled, looking up at him. “I didn’t know you knew anything about that.” Military strategy, basic or not, was the last thing she’d expected to hear come out of his mouth.

 

A third explosion occurred, again casting a faint glow, only this time it illuminated a figure standing in the hut’s entrance.

The pair screamed, sending Margaret diving for her stick while Hawkeye went for the flashlight. He swiped at the  the switch frantically, illuminating the area: there in the doorway was a North Korean soldier, carrying both a gun and a major wound.

Margaret tensed, and Hawkeye prayed that she wouldn’t try to hit the man. He didn’t think she was that stupid, but she was that wound up. He couldn’t see any point in trying to hit a man with a gun; he’d probably just shoot them dead.

 

The soldier’s movements were laboured; blood oozed from a hole in his belly as he advanced. A river of red dribbled slowly down his leg, staining the dirt.

He stopped, barking something in Korean as he cocked his rifle. His words rang out sharply into the temporarily still night before he pointed the gun at Hawkeye’s head.

 

In that very moment another shell exploded, rocking the ground, and sending a spray of dirt and tiny rocks flying into the hut with such force that it stung wherever it hit .

The blast toppled the wounded man, and he collided with the ground, but not before squeezing the trigger. The gun went off with a bang, the bullet whizzing past Hawkeye’s left ear and leaving the hut through the wall.

He made a pathetic sound as his brain slowly registered what had just happened; his life hadn’t even had time to flash before his eyes. 

He waited a beat, but the soldier didn’t move.

 

Hawkeye extended his leg, tentatively poking the man with his foot, but there was no response. He leaned forward and made sure the gun was out of reach before searching for a pulse, but found nothing.

A visible wave of relief washed over him, followed immediately by disgust. He should feel sadness or regret at the man’s passing, yet all he could muster was a gratefulness that he and Margaret would now live another minute. It threw into stark relief just how dire their situation really was, as if it had been possible to forget.

 

In that moment Margaret’s fear burst its banks and became misery. A harsh sob broke free from her lips.

 

Settling back on the mat he flicked the flashlight off before turning to Margaret and gently prising the stick from her grip so that he could wrap his arms around her.

 

“C’mere, Margaret.”

 

She jumped when he made contact, but allowed herself to be pulled into him as she continued to cry. It wasn’t much, but having the warm aliveness of her in his arms was more pleasant than not. He allowed himself to concentrate on that feeling, his grimy cheek pressed against equally dirty blonde hair. But it wasn’t long until his thoughts turned to the gun on the floor nearby. 

They’d probably increase their chances of survival a little by sitting holding the gun instead of each other but, like her, he was tired of fighting to live. They’d just have to hope that they didn’t get any more bombs or surprise visitors.

Margaret turned her head so that her mouth was clear of his chest, taking a deep breath as she tried to get herself emotions back under control. 

“I just wanted to say, that it’s been an honour working with you, Captain.”

Hawkeye was stunned into momentary silence.“Don’t talk like that, someone’ll find us.” His statement was as much a deflection as it was something he wanted to believe, and it hung awkwardly in the air. 

“But for the record; it’s been an honour working with you too, Major.”

She said nothing in reply, but he felt the side of her face move upwards ever so slightly in what he assumed was some sort of smile.

The moment was shattered by another explosion. Hawkeye pulled Margaret even closer, as much for his own comfort as hers and as he did, he found himself praying silently to a god he was pretty sure didn’t exist, just in case God actually did and felt like helping them get out of here alive.

  
  


Back at the 4077th, sleep was being elusive. Sherman Potter had left his office for long enough to get into his pyjamas and robe, but the delusion that he was going to be able to sleep hadn’t even lasted long enough for him to get into bed. Instead, he’d shoved his feet into a pair of slippers and come back over here to perch on his desk and stare at the phone, just in case it rang with any news.

 

He’d not been there long before Radar shuffled into the room, concern etched on his sleep-worn, bespectacled face. “Are you okay, sir?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Radar. Just finding it a little hard to sleep.”

“Gosh. It’s a real shame the 8063rd didn’t manage to called before they left.”

“I know, son, I keep going over the same thing. Lord only knows where they are, now.”

_ “Or who’s done what to them.”  _ he mentally added. He didn’t plan on sharing that thought, but the look on Radar’s face told him that he already knew. 

 

Before the conversation could resume, the doors opened once as a robe clad BJ pushed through them. He scrutinised both of them,  as if trying to detect any trace of new information. “This is quite the pyjama party. Heard anything?”

“Nope, Hunnicutt, not a thing.”

BJ blew out a noisy jet of air from between his lips, in an attempt to temper his frustrations. 

“There must be something we can do, instead of just sitting around here waiting to hear that they’re dead!”

The Colonel gave him a look that conveyed both weariness and carefully constructed patience. “Son, I’ve made a lot of calls to a lot of people, and each time the answer is the same: the area they’re in is too dangerous to go looking for them, so we’ve gotta stay put.” BJ opened his mouth to object, but the Colonel sighed audibly and put up his hand to silence him.  “Pierce and Houlihan are tough nuts. If they’ve managed to find somewhere to hide, I’m sure they’re gonna be fine.”

BJ sat down heavily in a chair in front of the desk, aware that he was beaten. “Imagine those two spending a lot of time confined together. They get along like a house on fire, if only in the sense that something’s probably on fire.”

“They are both fond of a good yell.” The Colonel paused before continuing. “Personally, however, I’ve always thought they worked well together.” It wasn’t the kind of gossip or speculation he usually took part in, but he figured they could use the distraction.

BJ’s eyes were alight with mischief, his frustration temporarily forgotten. “In the OR or generally?”

The Colonel eyed him slyly. “Why, what have you seen?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing!”

 

Radar piped up tentatively, “I’ve seen a few things. They’ve kissed and everything.”

The other two men’s heads whipped around, their attention now fully on him.

BJ was incredulous. “When? What kind of kiss?”

“Well the first time—“

The Colonel interrupted “It happened more than once?”

“Yes, sir. The first time I was just crossing the compound, minding my own business, when Captain Pierce stopped Major Burns and Houlihan. He got Major Burns to hold his martini for him to that he could grab Major Houlihan and kiss her.”

 

  
BJ’s eyes widened. Hawk had failed to mention that one. “Let me guess, that was right before she tried to have him court-martialled?”

“No sir. Major Burns wanted to, but she had this big grin on her face and she pretended that nothing had happened.”

 

Potter shook his head with a smirk. “That Pierce. Always one to play with fire, especially if it’s female. What about this second time?” he pressed, eager for the distraction of more gossip.

 

“Well, sir, Colonel Blake had ordered the nurses to bug out, so they were all boarding the truck to leave, and Major Houlihan was saluting the other officers goodbye. When she saluted Cap’n Pierce, he stepped forward and dipped her, and they kissed for ages.”

BJ’s eyes were shining with amusement. “Surely she’d have to have seen that coming.”

“I’m pretty sure she did, sir, she didn’t step back or nothing.”

The Colonel let out a guffaw, he was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. “What did she do this time, more smiling?”

“Oh, Loads. Major Burns had to lead her away.”

 

“Well there you go. They make a fine surgical team, and apparently a good kissing one as well. I’ll be honest, I have always wondered about them. I remember not long after I arrived here, when Meg Cratty and her orphans came for a visit; they flirted so hard I was going to find them in the supply room together!”

 

“And now she’s married to Penobscot,” BJ interjected. 

“And she’s been unhappier for it!” the Colonel exclaimed. “The amount of screeching she’s been doing. Not just down the phone, either. At Pierce, Radar. All of us.”

Radar’s eyes flicked between the two other men, gauging as to whether he should share his next piece of information. “Maybe not for much longer”

The Colonel looked at him inquiringly. “Why’s that, Radar?”

“The letter her Colonel sent her didn’t have her name on it.” 

“What do you mean?” BJ pressed.

“It was written to some other lady. Her name was Darlene or something.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t some nickname he’d given Major Houlihan?”

“Nah, it mentioned that he had a wife and everything.”

BJ’s voice was raised in outrage. “Why am I not surprised?”

The Colonel sighed. “She does have a way of picking them.”

 

BJ deflated visibly as the weight of the night settled back over them. “I hope gets back here safely just so she can divorce the guy.”

“So do I, son. So do I.”

  
  


When Margaret came to the next morning she was both annoyed and impressed. Annoyed with herself for having been weak and complacent enough to fall asleep, but impressed by the fact that Hawkeye, who still had one arm around her, was sitting with his other hand on the gun, watching the doorway, which was lit by the pale, pre-dawn light. 

 

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, looking down at her as she shifted. 

She had the good grace to blush. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but when the shelling had eventually stopped she’d faded into an exhausted but fitful sleep.

Hawkeye couldn’t really say he minded. She’d been a convenient source of warmth, and her snoozing had made it all feel a lot more relaxed than it really was. He’d been pointedly ignoring the stiff, dead body lying in front of him.

“Any more movement out there?” Margaret said as she sat up and disentangled herself from his arm.

“Not unless you count the birds.”

He was back to flippancy, she noted. He was either more resigned or more relaxed. But birds were good. The absence of birds would be far more ominous

 

Hawkeye took a swig of water from a flask he’d found in his bag. “Drink?” he said, offering it to Margaret.

“Thank you,” she replied, taking it from him.

“So,” Hawkeye said as she took a swig, “what are we going to do today? I was thinking a nice picnic next to a hole in the ground, but the maid didn’t pack any lunch...”

“I think we should position ourselves somewhere American troops would be most likely to find us,” Margaret said, ignoring his extraneous words.

“How about by the road?”

“It’s as good a place as any.” Margaret’s gaze fell on the dead man lying on the floor. “We should leave as soon as possible.” She was all too aware that the longer they lingered, the more likely someone would discover them, and the more visible they’d be once they went outside.

Hawkeye slung the gun over one shoulder, and his bag over the other. He didn’t want it, nor did he want to need it, but he knew there was a chance that he might.

“How many bullets are left in that thing?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m only planning on waving it around until the enemy leaves us alone.” Or at least that’s what he was trying to tell himself, anyway.

The fighting had stopped, so one side had obviously gone home, but who had won and where they had gone was, so far, unclear. 

They were going to have to tread carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Some of you are probably yelling, “But where’s the main event?!”   
> Wellp, I moved it to somewhere I feel is more organic and in keeping with their relationship outside of this crazy two-parter, and less shoehorned in, ‘cause that’s what I do :)  
> But it DOES still happen within the realm of this story.


	4. Chapter 4

 

The atmosphere outside was decidedly eerie; the crater-pocked landscape jarring awkwardly against a brilliant sunrise.

Hawkeye’s face was etched with a frown as he surveyed the damage. They should get moving, but the combination of the scene laid out before them combined and the experiences of the night before had him stopped him in his tracks.

“I’m amazed we didn’t get blown off the face of the earth last night, and look at nature pretending it didn’t happen. Have you ever seen a more beautiful sunrise? I can’t tell whether it’s because it’s actually beautiful, or because we’re still on it.”

 

Margaret eyed him warily before squinting into the sun, and allowing the feeble rays to warm her dirt-streaked face. The sky was, indeed, magnificent, and she was trying to stop his words from reverberating around inside her skull. She didn’t want to think about how near to death they’d come. She could feel it, but she didn’t want to know it. She didn’t want to dwell on it at all.

She had never been under the illusion that war was fun and games, she’d seen too much during her career for that. But somehow seeing war like this was even more grizzly than dealing with the wounded back at camp. There there was still hope, here it was nothing more than destruction and the lifeless aftermath.

The mangled bodies of a few men lay dotted around the landscape; some Chinese, some American, and some of them could have so easily been them.

She shook herself remembering where they were, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. They’d already stayed here longer than they should have.

She made eye contact with Hawkeye, and he seemed to understand what she wasn’t voicing: They should get out of here before he and the gun were forced to get to know each other.

  


Dry brush scratched at Hawkeye’s fatigues as they pushed their way through it once again. Twigs and branches snapped as he shoved past them, the odd one springing back and, hitting him in the face.

He’d had enough of Korea and its countryside. In his mind it was starting to rank right up there with the War itself. He was tired, dusty, dirty, achy, scratched, bruised and battered, and all their surroundings seemed to do was offer up more of the unyielding and inhospitable. The grass wasn’t even green. It was dead and brown, and grew in sparse tufts. It was a stupid thing to resent a country for its seeming inability to grow grass up to his standards, but dammit, he did. He was stuck here in this country, in this damn war, and he felt this louder and more overwhelmingly than ever before, so all this dirt, and all this grass, and everything else surrounding him could go to hell.

 

From her position behind him, Margaret was observing Hawkeye as she trudged ever onward.

His fatigues were covered in dust and dirt, and there was a bloody smear by his back pocket that moved as he walked.

He loped on in his gangly way, the gun slung over his shoulder awkwardly.

She’d add that to the list of things she wasn’t expecting to see on this trip. Privately she admired his normally peace-loving stance. It took guts to have your own morals and stick to them, and strength, and those were qualities she could respect. Never mind the fact that she personally didn’t find it a practical position to hold in a war-zone.

She was grateful; both for putting that aside for now, and for the comfort he’d offered her last night. For all his talk of being a coward, he was willing to do what needed to be done, and that was more than she could say for most of the men she’d known.

He was certainly far more impressive than Frank.

Somehow she doubted Donald would’ve been much use last night either.

Damn Donald. _Damn_ that man to hell.

For all his brass, for all her talk about his impressive features, he really was just a coddled, mono-browed, self-serving imbecile.

Her marriage was rotten.

Though this was hardly a revelation, oh no, she’d known this for quite some time. Possibly even since the beginning. But she had her pride, which was both why she married him and why she was loathe to divorce him. He and his brass looked good on paper, and a divorce decidedly did not. She’d been hoping if she worked hard enough it would be enough, but his infidelity stung like a slapped cheek.

It was unwanted confirmation that maybe those pesky doubts she’d had since the day they met were not only founded, but the loud and obvious truth.  

He’d even had the gall to mention to the other women that he had a wife, telling that woman with the moonlight-bathed shoulders that Margaret was ‘sturdy’.

She didn’t want to be sturdy, she wanted to be passionately adored, and loved. Surely she was worth the trouble, though she was starting to believe she wasn’t. What was that stupid thing she’d heard Hawkeye say? That without love you were only worth 89 cents? Well then. She was worth 89 cents.

Margaret let out a humourless snort.

 

Hawkeye turned to look at her inquiringly. “Everything okay back there?”

 

They were meant to be being quiet.

But really, after all they’d been through, after considering the likelihood of them ever being found, the energy required to suppress themselves again just seemed like more than they had to give.

 

“Oh I’m fine,” she said, the reflexive answer sounding ludicrous even as as it rolled off her tongue. There was nothing fine about their current situation. In fact, it was decidedly not fine.

He threw her an amused look before turning back to the front and coming to a stopping short, in turn causing Margaret to almost run into him.

 

They’d reached the road.

 

Hawkeye stilled, steeling himself before stepping out onto it and prayed that their surroundings were as deserted as they looked. He turned slowly, taking it all in, and almost laughed when he caught sight of what used to be their jeep.  “Well that’s handy.”

“What?”

“See for yourself. Personally I always felt the green was a bit much.”

 

Margaret came to see what he was looking at. Their jeep was no longer a jeep, but a twisted, blackened wreck.

 

“I hope they had insurance,” Hawkeye quipped, but Margaret remained serious. They wouldn’t have been able to ride home in it even before this, but it seemed to serve to magnify the fact that they were stranded even more.

“What do we do if no one comes?”

 

This brought Hawkeye back down to earth with a thud, and earth was something he’d been trying to avoid. “We, uh. Then we start walking, I guess, and praying. Praying probably wouldn’t hurt either.”

 

He’d been wondering about that himself, he’d just been hoping to put off confronting it a little longer. If no one came, they were in big trouble. Logically staying here was their best bet, even overnight if they had to. It was far better than wandering off. They were on a well travelled road, next to the remains of an American jeep. Surely anyone looking would eventually find them if they stayed nearby. They just had to hope that they’d be the right kind of anyone, and that the anyones were actually looking.

 

That right there was the gaping flaw in their plan, but the trouble was, they didn’t have a better one.

 

* * *

 

Half a day went by with no activity. Hawkeye ached from his hips up and, if the look on Margaret’s face was anything to go by, he wasn’t the only one.

He winced as he shifted his weight from one buttock to the other. The human body wasn’t made for all this sitting on rock-hard Korean ground. His body still hadn’t forgiven him for last night, let alone this.

 

He eyed the increasingly cloudy sky with disdain. Clouds had been gathering over the last couple of hours, and it was looking more and more like it was going to rain.

 

He longed to get up and stretch. He hadn’t moved since he’d gone to take a leak an hour ago. Right now he’d even consider jogging the days and distance it would take to get back to the 4077th if it would help get some of these kinks out.

He was feeling increasingly antsy. They’d seen barely a bird all morning, let alone an actual person, with or without a jeep.

They were going to have to start looking for food and water if this kept up.

 

A fat raindrop landed on the bridge of his nose and trickled down the side of his nostril, and he tilted his head back to glare at the clouds. It looked like the water had found them. It was too bad that leaving his flask out with the cap off wouldn’t replenish their its contents.

The parched earth was wasting no time in turning to mud.

 

Margaret let out an irate huff as the rain steadily increased, and mentally added hypothermia to the list of things that might kill them. A night like last night in soaked clothes could be lethal. She considered covering them in her field jacket in the vain hope it would deflect some of the rain but decided against it. All that would do would add a soggy layer of camouflage.

 

“Well,” Hawkeye said, punctuating her thoughts, “ I dunno about you, but this is the worst holiday I’ve ever been on.”

 

“We’ll be lucky not to turn hypothermic.”

 

“Y’know what the best way to prevent hypothermia is?”

 

“I am _not_ getting naked and pressing myself against you, and besides, you’d have to conjure up a sleeping bag first.”

 

“Why Margaret, are you saying that if there was a sleeping bag here you’d get naked with me?”

 

“If it was between that and death, then yes, I would.”

 

“Maybe later you and I could…”

 

“Shh!”

 

“I have it on good authority that the nurses I’ve spent time with have been more than--”

 

“Quiet! Do you hear that?”

 

Hawkeye’s eyes went wide as he realised what he was hearing. “It’s an engine! Sounds bigger than a Jeep.”

 

He stood up, and Margaret was incredulous. “What are you doing! It could be the enemy, they could see you!”

 

“There’s no band music.”

 

“But that doesn’t mean--” instead of finishing her sentence she grabbed his arm and yanked him down before he was seen. His eyes went wide as he fell rather comically on his ass.

 

A large, green truck rolled into view, coming to a halt next to the burned out jeep. Most notable were the letters “U”, “S” and “A” printed on its side.

The truck’s driver stuck his head out of the window and yelled, “Convoy halt!” and it echoed further and further up the road

 

With little pause, Hawkeye and Margaret leapt out of the bushes, yelling and waving their arms.

 

Against many odds It had worked, it had actually worked, and here was the 8063rd on their way back to camp.

 

The camp’s CO climbed down from the truck. “Captain Pierce and Major Houlihan?”

“That’s us,” Margaret blurted eagerly.The sense of urgency to be noticed and taken out of here was strong, even though the convoy was well and truly stopped.

“We’d been told to be on the lookout for you guys, but I honestly didn’t think we’d find you alive. It got pretty rough up here last night.”

Hawkeye shot him a scathing look. “Tell me about it.”

The CO ignored him. “Are either of you hurt?”

“No, sir.” Margaret volunteered, “Just a little scratched up.”

“Reckon you two can still show us that new arterial technique? We’ll be expecting casualties soon enough.”

“Where there’s a war there’s a war. I will warn you, though, there hasn’t been a lot of  sleeping going on around here, so we’re gonna need some of that before we’re any use.”

Margaret opened her mouth to say something but decided against it.

“There’ll be time for rest soon enough. Okay, you two, climb aboard!”

A short but intense look passed between the two before Hawkeye helped Margaret into the back of the truck. She didn’t need his help, but accepted it without a word.

They didn’t need to check in with each other, either, yet they did. Somewhere along the war it had started to become normal, though neither had examined things too closely. Because it spoke of growing closeness, and that in itself was dangerously close to significant.

So one by one, they climbed into the back of the truck, and sat down next to each other.

Hawkeye greeted the nurses already sitting in the truck, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was beat, while Margaret stared vacantly into the distance, giving no indication that she’d heard anyone speak.

They could relax now, only quite how, neither knew.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

“For the last time, Hunnicutt: You’re not going out looking for them. It was a bad idea this morning, it was a bad idea at lunchtime, and it’s a bad idea now.”

The Colonel was just barely keeping his voice and his temper under control as BJ stood before him yet again, eyes wide and incredulous, arms gesticulating.

 

“But Colonel!”

 

“But nothing! The 8063rd should be moving back where they’re supposed to be about now, and they were told to keep an eye out--”

 

“But what if they--”

 

The Colonel put up his hand to silence him. “I haven’t finished. If they don’t find anything, then a search party will set out first thing tomorrow morning with orders to start combing the area.”

 

“Combing what area? We don’t know where they are how far they traveled!”

 

“Hunnicutt…” There was a note of warning in the older man’s voice that brooked no argument, and BJ put his hands up in surrender and began pacing the short distance from one side of the room to the other.

 

“I know I know, I just feel so helpless! The longer they’re out there, the more hopeless it feels. I mean, what are the chances that they’re still alive?”

 

Colonel Potter took off his glasses and ran his hand down his face while he mentally counted to ten. On top of his own worries for his missing officers and his profound lack of sleep, Hunnicutt was pushing his grip on sanity to the brink.

 

At that moment, Radar burst in through the doors to the office, unaware that his headset was still around his neck.

 

“Sirs, they’ve found them!” He exclaimed, reaching the end of his telecommunications tether.

 

“Well put that phone back in there and come and tell us more!”

 

“The 8063rd found them sitting on the side of the road next to their bombed out jeep,” Radar said, slightly breathless.

 

“And they’re okay?” BJ asked, eager to know every detail.

 

“Just a few cuts and bruises, nothing serious.”

 

The Colonel’s face cracked into a wide smile. “That’s fabulous news!!”

 

“Oh thank God!” BJ choked back the tears that were threatening to well. The realisation that he’d be expected to survive Korea without Hawkeye was bad enough, but this has been before he’d started imagining all the terrible things that had probably happened to them: Missing limbs, gaping chest wounds and broken bodies in a ditch somewhere. Kidnap, torture, rape. Last night had seemed as endless as its possibilities.

 

“And when are they coming home?” The Colonel asked, turning his attention to Radar.

 

“Uh, day after tomorrow, sir.”

 

“Well then. Hunnicutt. I think a little welcome home celebration might be in order, don’t you?”

 

* * *

 

 

Once they’d arrived back at the 8063rd it had been hands on deck. There’d been an entire camp to re-assemble and an OR to get in order, and tired or not, it was well and truly dark before they were done.

 

Since then Margaret had showered, put on a borrowed set of pyjamas, and was lying in a spare bunk in the nurse’s tent waiting for sleep to claim her, only sleep didn’t seem to be doing any claiming.

She shifted restlessly, causing the rickety frame squeak loudly.

Everyone else was asleep. The soft, slow breathing of the other women was audible, and yet she, who arguably needed rest even more than they, was getting nowhere.

She was revelling in being clean, and never before had the coarse, standard issue bedding felt so luxurious, but she was, for lack of a better word, wired.

Her head felt as if it had a thick layer of fuzz inside it, and her jaw was stubbornly tight.

She couldn’t tell whether she was waiting for the bombs to start falling again or if she was still wound up from when they did, but it didn’t matter. The effect was the same.

 

She huffed to herself before sitting up and swinging her legs out of bed. She reached under the bunk and retrieved her boots, grimacing as she shoved her un-socked feet into her cool, still-clammy boots.

Maybe a brisk walk to the latrine would make her feel like sleeping.

In her own tent she’d pace, drink, write a letter, but there was no possibility of that here.

 

It would have to do.

 

Outside the breeze was cool on her face. The damp earth crunched softly under her feet in the stillness of the night. Stillness that she’d craved last night. Stillness that was now almost eerie. She shook her head in attempt to clear thoughts before they happened. She’d compartmentalised it all:

 _They were at war, they nearly died, they survived, they were fine, move on,_ but her emotions were frustratingly slow on the uptake.

 

She forged on ahead, faltering only when she noticed a light on in the VIP tent.

Margaret scoffed at herself. Was she _really_ considering going to confide in Hawkeye Pierce in the middle of the night?

She was. She must be insane.

 

She struck a deal with herself: If the light was still on when she was done at the latrine she’d allow herself the moment of weakness and go see him.

Otherwise, she resolved, she would go back and lie in her bunk and get over herself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hawkeye rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. It felt as though someone had dumped an entire desert into them, and if he ever found whoever that was, he’d make them pay.

He grinned stupidly. Sleep deprivation had only made his mind extra extraneous.

 

Sure, actually sleeping would fix his eyes, and even provide some silence, only his body was telling him it hadn’t finished pacing yet.

 

He was enjoying having the space to pace. There was no one yelling at him to shut up nor throwing things at him until he turned the light off, and he was making the most of that, though if he knew what was good for him he’d just give in, lie down and pass out.

 

He walked over to the bunk, threw the covers back, and was about to sit down on it when there was a soft knock on the tent door.

 

_Interesting._

 

His eyebrows rose gently in amusement. His first thought was that it was Margaret knocking on his door in the middle of the night.

 

_Surely not._

 

But who else would it be? He wasn’t that “familiar” with the nurses here, and official business knocked harder.

 

Sure enough, when he opened his door, there she was. Arms wrapped around herself at the cold, body rigid as she looked “casually” in another direction, as if she could even hope to appear nonchalant.

He should check the sky for flying pigs. She’d come to him in the night for help once before, but this was different, it _felt_ different. There was a precipice around here somewhere, and he was starting to suspect that they were close to the edge.

 

“Margaret, what can I do for you at this hour?”

“Oh, you know, I was just--” she gave up on whatever lie she’d been about to concoct, there was no point, but she couldn’t look at him “--I couldn’t sleep, saw your light on--”

 

She faltered, blinking. Whatever bravado used to get here to the point of knocking had evaporated into the night. She didn’t even know what she wanted from this. Or rather she did, but it was starting to feel like the implications might be larger than anticipated.

 

But he stepped aside when she didn’t elaborate, guiding her inside.

 

There was an awkwardness between them tonight, like suddenly they were tiptoeing around something that shouldn’t even be there. It’d been threatening before now, but hadn’t quite broken through.

 

The few kisses he’d stolen from her in the past had whet an appetite, which told them of course that there was indeed _something,_ but both had believed that their apparently warring personalities would render them forever immune.

 

Until suddenly they _weren’t._

 

Their shared experiences had stripped them of a few more layers of their veneers, and they’d run out pretense sooner than either had ever expected to.

 

But denial was not something they were short on, and warily they clung to it still, because the alternative wasn’t something either was prepared to confront.

 

“Margaret?” He said her name softly in an attempt to pull her out of the sea of discomfort he can see her wallowing in.

 

Her head snapped up to look at him, her face twisted into a pained expression.

 

Hawkeye tamped down the urge to drown them in humour; he wanted to see where this would go, so he was going to have to settle for the basics. “Are you okay?”

 

She answered reflexively before fully aware of doing so. “I’m fine.”

 

But Hawkeye was well and truly past settling for such an answer. “Let’s try that again,” he said with a half-mocking smile.

 

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and when she speaks, her voice is laced with a weary resignation.. “I think I’m going insane. I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep, and I’m surrounded by all these people who sleep easily like we can’t all be wiped out without a moment’s notice. I mean why should I care? We know we’re at war, it’s always been dangerous…”

 

Hawkeye motions for her to sit in a lonesome fold out chair, as he perches himself on the edge of his bunk. She’s exhausted, she looks exhausted, and he’s no better.

He settles and continues.

 

“Yeah, but until last night it’d never been that up close and personal - and then there’s Donald. It’s not a wonder you’re not sleeping.”

 

At this Margaret snapped to attention, instantly aflame with her trademark indignance. “What about Donald?”

 

“Well y’know, a cheating spouse is enough to keep most people up at night on its own.”

 

Margaret turned her head to stare daggers at the dark canvass of the tent as Hawkeye continued, hoping in vain that if she avoided his gaze long enough he might give up.

 

“Have you decided what you’re doing to do about it?”

 

Margaret’s icy gaze was, once again, turned on him instantly. She bit, she would continue to bite, and to hell with him. “Why, what’s it to you?”

 

“I’m just trying to be a friend here, you’re the one who came knocking on my door in the middle of the night!” He eyed her pointedly. He wasn’t particularly upset by all this, but the firm barrier he once again found himself up against was frustrating.

 

She deflated again, the ire she’d felt drained away as quick as it came, and her voice was knocked down a few decibels. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Margaret swallowed hard before she continued. “I’ll take him back, I suppose; pretend it never happened.”

 

“He doesn’t deserve that. Neither do you.”

 

“Well what else am I supposed to do? Divorce him and have everyone say ‘I told you so’? They’ll all think I’m an idiot. Hell, I _feel_ like an idiot.”

 

“You’re not an idiot. You were just trying to live your life as best you could while we’re stuck over here.”

 

Margaret scoffed. “And look how well that turned out.”

She puts her hand to her face to cover stifle a face-splitting yawn. “I should go.”

 

Hawkeye looked at her impassively as he squashed the gall to disagree with her.

They were back in camp now. It might not be _their_ camp, but it was still camp, and back to camp was back to normal.

He’d always found her attractive, that wasn’t new, but it was the affection he’d found seeping into it was the problem.

 

But that didn’t mean he knew what he wanted from her.

 

Margaret made her way to the door,  and he lurched to his feet to see her to the door. Manners. Or what might pass as them.

Their eyes met as they shuffled towards the door, and the tension in the air between them was palpable.

 

“Well,” Margaret said, looking down and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, “Goodnight.”

 

“G’night, Margaret.”

 

And with that she ventured back out into the night, feeling even more tumultuous than when she’d arrived.

She felt distinctly unresolved in a way that had little to do with death or Donald, and that in itself was bothering her.

How had how she did or didn’t feel about Pierce become even remotely significant?

 

She had rules about getting involved with that man, and that was only one of many compelling reasons she had not to go there.

The fact that the rules existed at all told her things about herself she didn’t want to know.

  
She quietly let herself back into the nurse’s tent, shed her jacket and slid into bed, finding herself staring a familiar piece of darkness, listening to the same breathing, and still awaiting sleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have read and enjoyed this story so far! Unfortunately life has slapped me in the face a bit lately and the 6th (and final) chapter will be delayed by a few months. It's plotted and planned and I know exactly what's gonna go down and how, but the time and mental energy to turn it all into nice sentences has been hard to come by. But it will absolutely be finished, it's just delayed (no abandoned WIP's to my name yet and I'm not about to start :).


	6. Chapter 6

 

  
  
The rush of comfort and familiarity Hawkeye felt as they pulled into the 4077th was something that he was completely unprepared for. He’d expected to feel relief, maybe even some psychological kind of self-permission to stand down, but it felt disturbingly close to coming home.

Their trip home had been uneventful, stunningly so, and he and Margaret had happily bounced their way along toward an acquired spinal injury as their driver took them home. The army had apparently deemed such a thing necessary given their misadventure on the way there even though a driver would do nothing to stop it happening again.

A scattered applause went around those that were outside as their jeep pulled into the compound, and the mess tent’s doors were flung open violently as BJ threw himself out to greet them.

Their jeep had barely even stopped before BJ picked up and swung a surprised Margaret out  of the back of it. He then immediately headed around the other side to throw his arms around Hawkeye, clapping him on the back.

“You’re alive!”

Hawkeye returned the back slap before disentangling himself, the whole near death experience business still far too fresh in his mind. “Only in body.” He had no idea what that even meant, but it was a reply, and it’d do.

He watched as Margaret accepted a hug from Colonel Potter before slipping away unnoticed and heading for her tent. He knew the feeling.

“Well, guess I’ll go put this back in the Swamp,” he said, tugging at the now almost empty satchel hanging from his shoulder, eager to have a moment to regroup.

BJ shrugged as he followed him in the direction of their tent.

 

* * *

 

The first part of their evening had been taken up by a ‘Welcome Home’ celebration in the mess tent. 

“Well,” Hawkeye said, patting his now bloated belly as he pushed his way back into The Swamp, “the cook really outdid himself this time; celebratory fried Spam sandwiches.”

BJ grinned at him. “Well we tried for something a little more exciting, but they told us that the Spam was surplus and needed to be eaten and that we could have it boiled, fried or cold.”

“Ha, surplus fried spam sandwiches, even better!”

“Oh well,” BJ shrugged, “welcome home!”

“Thanks, Beej.” Hawkeye said, trying to keep the overwhelming weariness from seeping into his voice.

 

There was an awkward pause as Hawkeye waited for the inevitable questions to come out of BJ’s mouth.

“So what was it like out there?”

“Oh y’know, the usual:” Hawkeye waved his hand dismissively,  “cold, dirty, deadly. And then some friendly Americans exchanged shells with some friendly North Koreans while we sat in the middle. We had a great time.”

He was being unfair, he knew, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He needed normality first, and then maybe to forget it ever happened.

BJ could recognise a defence mechanism when he saw one and let it go.

Hawkeye got up before he could say another word. “I’m gonna go see how Margaret’s doing.”

BJ was unable to stop the teasing smirk that crossed his face. “Why, do some one on one bonding out there did we?”

Hawkeye scowled darkly. “God, you’re as bad as Trapper,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for BJ to hear him.

“What was that?” BJ said, still grinning.

Hawkeye gave a deadpan smile and narrowed his eyes while he ignored the question. “Now, where was I…” He said as he opened his footlocker and began rifling through it. He stopped as he pulled out a small tin. “Dad sent me the gear to make hot cocoa, you want any?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

Hawkeye clattered around, pulling out two tin mugs and measuring out the cocoa mix as the water heated on the stove.

BJ watched in amusement. There was something brewing here, or maybe it had already brewed and he didn’t know it, and it wasn’t just cocoa.

 

* * *

 

He’d come, he’d knocked, and she’d let him in.

He was questioning his motives for coming here, as he should be, but really, it was because he couldn’t stay away. She talks less, asks less probing questions, she understands things because she was there. But tonight it’s more than that. There’s a knot between them begging to be untied, and he can’t seem to leave it alone.

The cocoa is a handy gift to come bearing, but Margaret’s not fooled. She’s already in her pyjamas, she’d been planning an early night.

If they were circling the crumbling edges of precipice last night, they’re sitting with their legs dangling in it now.

She should tell him to leave, avert the coming impact, but she doesn’t.

She takes a sip of her drink, holding onto the mug like it’s a life buoy before stealing a look at his face. The air is magnetic, electric. There’d always been a risk it would come to this, but why here, why now, and how had the balance tipped?

Questions were useless, but it didn’t stop her from feeling like she was giving into something as indulgent as it was futile.

Hawkeye held her gaze, and all else seemed to fade into a clichéd insignificance.

Any cover she might have had is blown when, traitorously, she licks her lips.

Next thing either of them know he’s leaning in, eyes serious and dark, and her lips are parting in anticipation. Fighting this, it seems, is over.

The kiss is heavy and bittersweet; a raging passion tempered by a near death experience as their mouths get to know each other for the first time on even ground.

There’s no surprise dip, not this time.

They meld, mouths still chocolatey and a little too hot.

When they part Hawkeye’s mouth drifts as he gently kisses each cheekbone in a vain attempt to convey the weight he’s feeling. In response Margaret’s eyes close from both anticipation and the intensity of emotions escaping their bonds.

She will not cry, she tells herself, not now, as she attempts to stuff her oversupply of emotions back into their box.

Feeling encumbered, he puts down his drink before taking hers from its position wrapped within her fingers and placing it next to his.

She’s looking at him again, awaiting his next move, and he wastes no time in moving in swiftly to recapture her mouth. The kiss is ardent, more yearning than the last, but still heavy with catharsis.

Their breathing turns into moans turn into groans as they deepen, and he slips his hand up her back taking advantage of her uncharacteristically loose apparel. 

He releases a groan into her mouth in appreciation of the warm, smooth,  _ naked _ expanse he’s just gained access to. She wasn’t even wearing a bra.  _ Of course she isn’t, you idiot, she’s in her pyjamas.  _ But it was a discovery that shot straight to his groin.

He inhaled sharply and broke their latest string of kisses to seek out her eyes again before he made his next move.  _ Permission.  _ It was still there. 

He then divested her of her top altogether.

 

Margaret shivered as her skin met cool air, giving way to a gasp as Hawkeye buried his face between her breasts, but she was getting impatient for other things. Blindly she reached for his belt and made swift work of undoing it, causing him to surface in surprise.

 

“Too many clothes.” She breathed in response, efficient as always.

 

They were going there, oh boy were they going there.

 

Pants fell, shirts were thrown and bodies fondled.

 

With no fabric left to separate them, Hawkeye backed Margaret against her desk, pressing their bodies together. He was too much taller than her for things to work like this, but it didn’t stop the pleasure of being pressed together in all their naked glory.

 

Margaret looked up a him in anticipation, her eyes wild, and lips red and parted. She shivered once again as a cool breeze from outside invaded the tent.

 

“Bed?” Hawkeye asked, finding his voice with some difficulty.

 

All Margaret could muster was to vehemently nod.

 

“Condom?”

 

Margaret spoke fast, impatient to get down to things. “Over there on the bedside table, in that pot”. She gesticulated clumsily

 

They shuffled over to her cot as they tried to maintain as much contact between them as possible and tumbled down onto it, the flimsy frame squeaking in protest.

 

She was now pinned beneath him, and could keenly feel him pressed hard against her belly. 

 

He reached over to help himself to a foil packet, and rolled off her briefly to deal with it before resuming his position, looking intently into her eyes.

 

In that moment, time seemed to stretch on forever as awareness found them again, but it was soon banished as they shifted against each other, and urgency ruled again.

 

In a moment of daring, Hawkeye reached down and used a finger to stroke her, causing her to writhe with pleasure. That was all the encouragement he needed.

 

Their bodies aligned and gently,  _ cautiously,  _ he entered her, his eyes seeking hers once again, just to make sure this was really okay.

 

But instead she tossed her head back, her eyes rolling back into her head as he moved, and ground herself downwards, urging him to keep going.

 

Momentum built as they went, until one by one they pulled each other over the edge.

 

They lay incredibly still, neither daring to broach what might come next.

 

Now she’d done it. Margaret had known this was a terrible idea, and she’d let it happen anyway. Now here she was lying next to a man holding himself stiff as a board and obviously waiting to flee.

 

Hawkeye’s voice broke the silence. “I, uh, need to go to the latrine.” He murmured awkwardly as he began to disentangle himself.

 

She didn’t believe that for a second. Not trusting her voice, she simply nodded without looking at him and waited for him to dress and leave.

 

And when he had, she buried her head in her pillow and finally allowed tears to fall.

 

* * *

Hawkeye paced up and down in front of Margaret’s tent a few times. Now what?

Sure, he could go to the latrine, but that wasn’t why he got out of there. He got out of there because he couldn’t face what might come next, that inevitable question of  _ ‘what are we doing here, what are we?’ _

He’d known. He’d known before he’d gone there. Hell, it was  _ why  _ he’d gone there, but that didn’t mean he could bring himself to confront it. She was more than just another warm body, she had significance on quite a few levels, and now he’d gone and done it. 

He could have just not gone to see her, he could have let it cool down and ignored it for a while and just gone on as normal, he  _ should  _ have. 

He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this one without fatal injuries.

Un-scathed was long gone.

He had to talk to BJ.

Mind made up he strode towards The Swamp, flinging open the door, and giving a cursory glance at Charles’s bunk. Good, the pompous buffoon must be in Post-Op.

“Beej,  _ Beej?”  _ Hawkeye hissed into the dark urgently.

 

BJ groaned as he came to. “Whaaat?”

 

“I need to talk to you!”

 

“What, what is it?” BJ said, sitting up blearily.

 

“Margaret and I just, y’know--” Hawkeye said, gesticulating wildly, panic evident in his voice.

 

“Got to know each other in the biblical sense?” BJ’s voice was deadpan as he felt the wave of irritation that he both could and couldn’t believe that his friend had just woken from his precious sleep for this.

 

“Yes!” Hawkeye exclaimed, “and I don’t know what to do about it!”

 

BJ rubbed his hand down his face in exasperation as he waited for coherent thought to kick in. “But you’ve had feelings for women before, Hawk.”

 

“But not like this, and she’s Margaret!”

 

One corner of BJ’s mouth quirked upwards. “Ah, so you’re highly sexually compatible  _ and _ attached at the heart - a deadly combination.”

 

“Look,” Hawkeye exclaimed, unimpressed, “can you stop making light of this?”

 

“Well what do you want me to say? You like her, she likes you—"

 

Hawkeye’s mouth exploded with the force of his next words. “But how do you know that?”

 

“She just slept with you!”

 

“And? She’s slept with a lot of guys, and besides she’s married!”

 

“And that’s going incredibly badly--and are you going to pretend you and her haven’t been making eyes at each other since I got here? Admit it, you’re just scared!”

 

“Well last time I felt this much for someone she left me, and I didn’t even see it coming!”

 

“In case you haven’t noticed, her name isn’t Carlye. This isn’t going to go away, you know. You can wimp out of it and everything will be awkward between you two, and you’ll both be miserable!”

 

“What, so now I have no choice, I  _ have _ to go tell her I want a relationship with her or else?” 

BJ was right, and in this moment he hated him for it. Telling her it was a mistake would only lead to misery on both sides and nothing resolved.

 

“No, but you’re an idiot if you don’t.”

 

“Fine,” Hawkeye yelled, Fine!” Before storming back out into the night.

 

“Bye, Hawk!” He heard BJ call out behind him with a heavy trace of sarcasm.

 

Hawkeye let out a long, pained breath into his hands and looked up at the night sky.

 

He was going to have to come clean.

 

* * *

 

By the time Hawkeye knocked on her door for the second time in the evening, Margaret had cleaned herself up, put her pyjamas back on and changed the sheets on her bed. Anything to be reminded less of what had just occurred.

 

“What do you want?” She barked. She had some idea of who it might be, and even if it wasn’t, she didn’t care.

 

It was, as she predicted, Hawkeye’s voice that responded from the other side of the door. “Can we talk?”

 

She sighed angrily and unlocked the door, stepping aside with an angry look. By this point she was in for a penny, in for a pound, and she was more than prepared to let him have it.

 

“Listen, Margaret, I--”

 

“You what, thought you’d make a move while my defences were down? Well done, you got me! Stick that in your little black book!”

 

“No, I--”

 

Her eyes were flashing. “Or let me guess, it was all a terrible mistake and we never should have done it. Well save it, mister, I’ve heard it all before!”

 

Hawkeye closed his eyes as he attempted to calm himself before he shouted back. He deserved that, he deserved all of it. “Margaret, I’m sorry.” He said, his voice low.

 

The quietness of it made her stop, and she waited, expectantly. Her eyes were suspicious, narrow slits but she was listening. 

 

“I thought I knew what I was getting into, only I wasn’t prepared for it, not at all in fact. I felt things. I _feel_ things, and they’re bigger than I thought they were - a lot bigger.”  
  


“What sort of things?” She asked, her voice cracking under the strain of it all. 

A voice in her head was hissing that she should be yelling at him again, that he should not under any circumstances be given another chance and that he’d already blown it, but she was tired of fighting whatever this was.    
  


“Well,” said Hawkeye giving an uncomfortable grimace and scratching the back of his head, “I’m going to seem pretty stupid if you don’t feel them as well.”   
  


“Well,” she said forcing herself to look at him with some degree of difficulty, “it just so happens you’re in luck.”   
  


“Oh yeah?” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.   
  


“I’ve been feeling those things for a while.” She said, looking intently at the wall of her tent, unable to face such an admission head on.   
  


“Margaret, you never said!” Hawkeye exclaimed.   
  


She snorted derisively. “Well would you?”   
  


“No, I guess not.” There was a small pause as Hawkeye changed mentally changed gears. He cracked a wry grin .“How did we get here?”   
  


Laughter bubbled up out of Margaret with a distinct edge of hysteria. “I didn’t think we would. “   
  


“Because we’re so different? We’re not though, are we.”   
  


“No, I guess not.” Truth be told, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a major disagreement.   
  


“Hey,” Hawkeye said, as a mildly mortified thought popped into his head, “y’know what? The nurses probably heard all of this.”   
  


“We did!” Came a voice from the other side of the canvass, along with muffled tittering.

 

Margaret flushed and gave a short, sharp shake of her head as if trying to clear embarrassment.   
  


“The curse of camp.” Hawkeye mused. He might have to share with two other guys, but he was glad The Swamp was a little further away from the others . “How do you live having your tent pressed so close up to the other ones?”   
  


Margaret shrugged. “You just do.”   
  


“So…” Hawkeye let the word hang, unsure how exactly to take the conversation further. “Where do we go from here?”

 

The air was still heavy, but now it carried the weight of potential as well.   
  


“Well, I uh, guess I should call a lawyer, and maybe we should give this a try.”

 

“This ‘us’ thing?”

 

Margaret nodded.

 

“We’ll never be the same again.” Hawkeye cautioned, knowing full well that it was a moot point.

 

“And we would now?”

 

“Touche.“ He said before considering his next move. He’d been the one to push her away, so he’d have to be the one to make a leap. “Margaret?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“C’mere.”

 

She took a step towards him as he pulled her into his arms and pulled her to his chest as she snaked her arms around his waist in response.

 

They could do this, they were going to try and do this, and just maybe it would work out just fine.

 

* * *

 

Colonel Potter sat at the head of a table in the mess tent as he waited for his senior staff to arrive. 

They had some routine administrative details to talk, and one of the other field hospitals had heard of their arterial transplant technique and wanted a demonstration. Information he knew that would not be popular with any of them.

 

One by one they filed in through the door, two of them looking decidedly blearier than the others. He smiled to himself, could it possibly be that something had actually happened?

 

They sat down, with Hawkeye taking up his usual position next to BJ with Margaret on at his other side at the other head of the table. Charles huffed as he sat across from the other members of The Swamp, clearly unimpressed at this imposition on his time.

 

The Colonel cleared his throat. “First order of business is that the Swedish medical unit down in Chorwon have heard about our success with arterial transplants, and of course now they want a demonstration. Pierce and Houlihan have done their duty, so,” he said, looking pointedly at BJ and then Charles, “That leaves one of you two.”

 

“Colonel,” said Charles, jumping in immediately, “I really must protest. The level of suffering they went through to even so much as  _ arrive  _ at their destination, let alone demonstrate the technique -why I’d not be surprised if they were now traumatised for life--!

 

Charles frowned as his gaze fell on the pair. They were leaning in towards each other and sharing what could only be described as a secret smile. “What?” Charles demanded, “Why are you smiling?”

 

Hawkeye shrugged, pretending to feign innocence. “Smiling, who’s smiling?”

 

Margaret’s grin was even wider now, and BJ and the Colonel both stifled a chuckle.

 

Charles’s face was a picture of disgust. “Oh  _ please  _ tell me you two didn’t do what I think you did. Who in their right mind thinks that whilst being bombed is a good time for a tryst!”

 

Hawkeye rose to the bait, unable to pass up on the opportunity to make Charles squirm, “Why Charles, I’ll have you know that Margaret and I…”

 

“Enough!” Potter stepped in, resuming control of the situation. “Now, where were we…”

 

Hawkeye slipped his hand over to Margaret’s and took it into his own, causing her to beam widely at him again. They allowed themselves a moment’s indulgence before paying attention once again to what was being said.

 

The Colonel, well aware that they weren’t paying him any attention, smiled and shook his head. They reminded him of he and his wife when they were younger. Hell, they reminded him of any couple that had just discovered they might have something together. That in itself was far nicer than most of the things that tended to happen around these parts, so for now, he didn’t mind one bit. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: We made it! Thank you all so much for reading it, and even more so for your kind words (kudos, comments, reviews, favourites, bookmarks, follows)!
> 
> I have been wanting to rewrite these episodes for quite some time now. I’ve always felt like they really squandered what was between Hawkeye and Margaret.  
> They could have let it happen naturally and organically with what was already building, they could have held it off until the series finale (yes i know they didn’t know how many seasons they were going to be renewed for), they could have had a more in character and heavily edited version of Comrades in Arms happen and then have them swear off each other because it might be a bad or risky idea, but succumbing to tension and temptation once or twice more between it and the series finale where they finally kiss, each time swearing it’d never happen again.
> 
> It didn’t need the contrivance, it didn’t need to have Margaret suddenly be acting like the most annoying, awkward harpy on the planet in order to force the “we’re too different” point. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed it, I hope you find this last chapter satisfying and “them”.


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